


Prelude to Disaster

by DollBones



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Anger, Anxiety, Body Dysphoria, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insecurity, Mental Health Issues, Narcissism, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-10 12:26:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollBones/pseuds/DollBones
Summary: Teenage Dennis is prepping himself for the first time Mac and Charlie come over his house.  Leave it to Dee to rudely interrupt him and throw him off his game.





	

Dennis gazed into the mirror, scrutinizing himself.  It would be fine.  It would all be fine, he knew it.  Taking deep, careful breaths, he completed the usual inspection: hands patting his cheeks, feeling for excess fat.  Gliding through his hair (checking for knots) and sweeping down, down, over the rest of himself.  Feeling and probing--quickly, like a doctor examining a patient.  He smoothed out his sweater for the fiftieth time.  He hoped he didn't look too dressed up.  He had a bad habit of doing that.  With a critical eye, he surveyed his outfit yet again.  Took another breath.  The sudden primitive, overwhelming urge to bite his nails welled up inside him, and he promptly thrust it back down.  Another bad habit.  Dennis stared hard at his reflection.  Mac and Charlie would be here in an hour.  They'd be the first people he'd had over his house since he was in first grade.  He tried to shake that tiny detail out of his thoughts.  Remember: loosen up, he told himself studiously.   _Don't be uptight, don't be uptight..._

"You've been ogling yourself for two hours, Narcissus." 

Dee appeared in the top left corner of the mirror.  She stood behind him in the threshold of the bathroom.  Dennis bristled, cursing himself for the fatal error of leaving the door unlocked.  Then, deciding that he was not going to let his annoying sister upset him today of all days, he lowered his haunches, imagining her vitriolic comments gliding off of him like water.  Injecting as much icy condescension in his tone as he could manage, he sniffed, "It's important to give a good first impression."   He leaned forward to search his face for blemishes, reached for his bottle of foundation.

He felt the heat of her watching him as he unscrewed the cap and began dotting makeup around problem areas (not that he necessarily _had_  areas that he'd consider 'problems,' because Dennis Reynolds did not have problems).  "You might want to go easy on the makeup tonight," she suggested.

Blending foundation in quick, circular motions into his skin, Dennis sighed.  "I'm putting a light base on."

"Dennis, I've seen your definition of a light base."

The slightest ghost of a frown drifted over Dennis' reflection.  With a little louder than necessary clink, he thumped the foundation bottle down upon the counter and picked up the tube of mascara he'd set beside it.

"Um, no way," Dee snickered.  

A sharp thorn of anger jabbed Dennis in the side.  "What?" he snapped, nearly growling.  Immediately, he realized with a sinking dismay that he'd allowed her to get to him.  Goddamn bitch.

Lips sliding into a wicked smirk, Dee pointed and jeered, "Mascara?  That's too much."

"It's not too much," Dennis said defensively, whipping around to face her despite himself.  She met his gaze steadily, her face oozing with smug triumph.  God, how he hated her.  Lecturing him of all people about appearances when she lived in a cage of metal because of her deformed spine.  His shoulders had locked up, bunching together like a fist. _Getting tense_ , a voice inside his head warned.  He rolled his shoulders back as he returned his gaze to the mirror, lashing out at his sister internally to calm himself.   _Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt_...

Dee folded her arms.  "Okay, fine.   Do what you want.  I'm just trying to help."

Stroking the mascara wand through his lashes, Dennis let out a bitter laugh.  " _You_ help  _me_?"

Dee shrugged, moving closer.  "Well, I'm your twin sister and I love you, even though you're a giant, fucking asshole.  So, I want you to be happy and have friends.  That's all."

A palpable layer of tension  coated the air between them; she'd ventured into dangerous territory.  Dennis grew very still and cold.  

"What do you mean, Deandra?" he said, after a moment.  His voice was like a finely honed knife, a thin ribbon of blood glinting along the edge.  "I have tons of friends."

Dee stepped back, her scoliosis brace emitting a loud creak at the movement.  Flinching at the noise, she stammered, "I-I know that."

Dennis swiveled around so he could look at her directly, eyes piercing into hers, which were stark with fear.  His whole body tingled and itched.  He could feel something feral twisting, howling inside of him.  "I'm the most popular kid in school," he went on.  Slowly, firmly, so she would never question him again.  "I'm the king of that place."

With wide eyes, Dee nodded. "Okay, sure."  She turned quickly, eliciting another loud creak from her back brace.  "I should, I should go..."

The prospect of her leaving jolted him back to normal again.  His stomach clenched in alarm.  "Hold on.  Don't leave just yet."

She stopped, stared at him warily.  "Why?"

Dennis gestured down at himself.  "How do I look?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ..."  Dee blew out a gust of air and rolled her eyes, but the relief that he was no longer angry with her was obvious on her face .

"Dee, come on,"  Dennis whined.

She groaned, then examined him.  "You look good, okay?"

"I don't look too..."

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Stiff?" 

"What?  No."

"I look like, you know, a normal teenager?" Dennis pressed, a clammy anxiety working its way into his voice, which had suddenly grown small.  And a weird clot had developed in his throat.  He cleared it.  "Like, if you saw me walking on the street, you'd think I was just another teenager?"

Dee frowned.  "What're you even talking about?"

Dennis lowered his eyes to the floor, not daring to meet Dee's so he wouldn't see the judgement in them.  "Nothing," he muttered.  "It's just..." He winced, like a child after swallowing bitter cough syrup, then admitted haltingly, "I just want those guys to like me. Be...friends."

He grimaced once the words left his mouth, wanting to beat his head against the wall.   _Weak, weak, weak._

Timidly, Dennis looked up, steeling himself to be met with his twin's mocking sneer.  Instead, he saw with surprise that Dee's face had softened.  Her eyes were tinged with a strange, sad gentleness.  "Right," she said, giving him an understanding smile.  "Well, you are Dennis Reynolds, king of the school.  You'll have no problem turning Ronnie the Rat McDonald and Charlie Dirtgrub Kelly into your minions."

Dennis bit his lip, nodding.  Yes, of course.

"But, if you want those guys to be your friends," Dee added, "you're gonna have to tone it down a bit."  She held one hand palms-down at her shoulder and lowered it, as if pushing down an invisible barrier.

"Tone what down?"

Dee gave another shrug.  "You know, your rage and obsessive need to control everything."  Her gaze turned sincere, thoughtful.  "Loosen up, have fun."

"I know how to loosen up," Dennis sulked, lips drawing into a brooding pout.

"I know you do," Dee replied in a voice that suggested the exact opposite, "but just in case...you know where Mom keeps her pills."  She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and walked (or, given her back brace, marched) away.

Dennis turned back to the mirror, stared.  The muscles of his face were drawn taut, pulsing with tension.  His mouth was a firm, grim line.  Dee was right, of course, he thought. _Goddamn it_.  Although, to be fair, she hadn't exactly said anything that he didn't already know.  Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing again.  In.  And out.  In.  And out.

"Relax, relax, relax," he whispered to himself, like a mantra.  "Don't be uptight.  Be loose.  Be cool.  Cool as a cucumber."  He opened his eyes, but the same tense face as before looked back at him.

Uttering a weary moan, he stroked his fingers down one cheek, an old self-soothing gesture.  "You're going to be fine," he told himself.  "Like Dee said, you're Dennis Reynolds, king of your high school.  Golden God.  A couple of peons like Ronnie the Rat and Dirtgrub should worship you."

He stared at himself for a minute longer.  "But, just in case..."  Dennis trudged out of the bathroom, in search of his mother's supply of Valium.

 

 

 

 

 

  


End file.
